The bell tolls in the distance.
The widow mourns in black.
For her there is no solace, no peace, nor joy.
He is dead.

The thunder shakes the heavens.
The priest waves the censer.
For him there is hope, peace, and sanctuary.
He knows promise.

He is not dead.
Nor is he lost to rot and decay.
He is not dead.
He will return on another day.

The child plays in silence.
Her mother weeps alone.
Father passed and left them, sad and starving.
He is dead.

The priest feeds the widow
As he is fed by another.
Love and compassion binding personhood.
He knows devotion.

The lightning cleaves the sky.
The killer shivers in fear.
For him the law hunts, relentless, unstopping.
He wants mercy.

There is one who gives mercy,
There is one who gives life,
Compassion, and loyal devotion,
Even to those undeserving.

He is not dead.
He has risen from the tomb.
He is not dead.
He will return in greater glory.